Fix You
by Morbid Original
Summary: A downward spiral, huh? Maybe the speculation was true. She didn't know. She didn't know anything. Everything she had expected her life to be had completely backflipped, leaving her clueless and confused. But there was this boy, and this band...and for a few fleeting moments their music would free her. That was all she knew. NaruSaku
1. Exposition

**Dear God it's been a while. **

**I haven't written/read FanFiction since I was like 13, but here I am. I recently started watching anime again to brush up on my casual Japanese, and thus began the landslide that landed me back on this dear site. **

**I hadn't watched "Naruto" in almost a decade and have only just started Shippuden, so bear with me on any semantic discrepancies. Also, fair warning, this story started as a daydream evoked by Sum 41's music, so it will be vaguely song-fic-ish. I'm not gonna transcribe every goddamn lyric, but some music will be involved. Besides, there's a reason Sum 41 and similar bands remind me of "Naruto" - they entertained me as a teen and share the same angsty energy (hence all the Sum 41/Naruto AMVs, I suppose). **

**I can't promise to update super _super_ frequently at the moment, as I'm in Japan for the year and haven't got wifi all the time yet. BUT I've really enjoyed writing this story so far and have a decent idea as to where it'll go, so hopefully I'll follow through (unlike the Morbid Original of ~10 years ago).**

**I hope you guys enjoy this little introductory chapter. I've written the next one as well, so if y'all seem to like where this is going, I can add that one pretty soon. **

**...Also NaruSaku so hard, guys.**

**XXX Morbid Original**

* * *

Fix You: Exposition

Have you seen Sasuke lately?

For the first time in years, this was a question to which Sakura could answer, Yes, she had. She had seen him the other day at the training arena, when he had come by to watch the rest of Team 7 practice. His probationary criminal status prevented him from joining them officially, but since he'd come back four months ago, he'd never missed his comrades' sessions and would be seen emulating their training immediately after their dismissal.

Learning the truth behind his brother's actions had exorcized his demons, it seemed. Rid of his thirst for revenge, he had dedicated himself to his new goal: redemption. He must repay the village for his betrayal, make up for all the hurt (physical and otherwise) he had caused, and to do so he would become the greatest ninja the town had ever seen, in service to his home.

These thoughts he had voiced not so literally – at least to anyone other than the Hokage's council – but they were generally understood. Despite all that had happened, it was difficult to hold a grudge as the Uchiha heir, the Leaf Village's prodigal son, came home. Just as Sakura had wanted.

But to much surprise, Sasuke's return had brought her about as much elation as being hit in the face with a tennis ball. It was certainly surprising, made her ache right between the eyes, but not particularly pleasant. Objectively she was glad he was back, sure. But 'glad' didn't quite balance out the pain, the gut-wrenching misery she had suffered when he left.

Maybe time had worn away her feelings, euthanized her ability to love; it had certainly diminished her will to trust people. She kept telling herself that, eventually, everything would go back to normal. Her heart would thaw and it would still beat for Sasuke, it would pound. But these assurances were usually met only by a dull ache in the pit of her stomach; doubt's dark matter.

Yes, she'd seen Sasuke, she finally answered, revealing none of the inner monologue that constantly followed his name to Ino, the perpetrator of this latest utterance.

"You should tell him to come tonight," the latter said, prissing about in front of the mirror, ignorant to her friend's transiently matted gaze.

"Come where?"

"To the boys' show, you bimbo." Incredulity had ripped Ino from her reflection, whipped her around to fix her friend with a gawking stare.

"Show?"

"Are you a parrot? Jesus! How have you not heard about this? The boys – the boys' _band_. Naruto's the frontman, how has this escaped you?"

Ino's reproachful rant did indeed ring a bell for Sakura. She remembered Shikamaru and Kiba bragging about their newfound talents on various occasions; perhaps Naruto had been there. In any case, that explained his abrupt disappearances following their training sessions of late.

"I guess I've just had other things on my mind," she muttered, suddenly taking great interest in her shoelace as she twisted it around her finger.

"Oh please, honey, cry me a river," Ino said, but her tone had softened. A brief silence followed in which she turned back to the mirror, Sakura to the sunset-swollen window. "Just invite him. Get him drunk and jump his bones already."

This coaxed a chuckle from Sakura's lips. "You'd let me have him so easily? Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh please," she scoffed, "I'm over it. Wouldn't wanna interfere with true love." Unnoticed, Sakura's smile turned bitter. "Besides, I'm going for a band member. That's where the real fun's at."

"Which one?"

"Haven't decided yet. I figure I'll leave it up to fate and hit on whoever's the most hammered."

"You know, you've always struck me as the frontman type," Sakura jabbed, eliciting a prompt, pig-like squeal of disgust.

"Ew, just stop. Not in a million years. Besides, everyone knows he only has eyes for you, Sakura-_chan_."

She grimaced, more out of habit than anything else. Naruto's advances had dissipated quite a bit in the year since Jiraiya's tutelage. Dumb jokes and perverted jutsus aside, he had matured quite a bit in his time away, Sakura thought. Perhaps he had outgrown his childhood crush, realizing there was nothing behind it but arbitrary infatuation. Or maybe he had just buried it. She wondered, sometimes, if the gleam in those sharp, oceanic eyes belied more than the camaraderie they had strictly established; if something still burned inside him, somehow persisting despite lack of advancement. But this curious shimmer appeared less and less frequently – or maybe she had just stopped noticing. Her boisterous blond teammate was the last thing on her mind these days. Maybe he had sensed that, and backed off. Maybe that was why he didn't invite her to their show. She had no idea.

"So are you gonna bring him?"

"Bring who?"

"Christ on a bike, Sakura. Get – out – of – your – head!" Ino chastised, accompanying each syllable with a rap from her pillow. "There's no way you'll manage to seduce Sasuke if you're constantly daydreaming _about_ Sasuke."

Having successfully snatched the pillow from her friend's hands, Sakura stood. "I wasn't daydreaming," she said forcefully.

Pointing an accusatory finger, Ino returned, accurately, "Lies."

Sakura sighed, shying away from another pointless defense of her state of mind. Instead, she changed the subject.

"When is the show?"

"Ten o'clock, Rock Bar. Don't be on time."

"Gotcha." Tossing the pillow back onto Ino's bed, Sakura made toward the door. It was getting late as it was; she had just enough time to go home, get changed, and decide whether or not she should go…and whom to invite, or not.

"Hey!" Ino's voice drew her once again from the steep descent into revelry. "Don't forget to come, space cadet."

Sakura rolled her eyes. "I won't!"

"And remember, bring Sasu-"

But the door had slammed before the final syllable escaped.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: So last chapter was pretty short and not super indicative of what this story's about, so here's another chunk. **

**Here's where I really start ignoring the semantics of the anime/manga. Like, do they have electric instruments and amps and shit in Konoha? No, certainly not. Do they even have electricity? Surprisingly yes – thanks, filler arc I just watched, for that information! But none of this concerns me. Are there enough people in the "band" to actually play the songs I'm prescribing them? No, probably not. **

**Deal with your cognitive dissonance at your own accord. ^-^**

**Also, FYI, I couldn't resist incorporating some random cultural stuff into this, as my Japan nerdiness nears its height…as I'm in Japan. **

**Konbini are just convenience stores. The drinking/smoking age in Japan is 20, so I'm just applying that information to Konoha. **

**I think that's it. **

**XXX Morbid Original**

Outside the convenience store, Sakura took a drag of her cigarette and coughed. She'd inhaled too deeply again. Ouch. She didn't know what had compelled her to buy the pack – normally, infrequently, she would just bum from her friends, who were more habituated partiers – but something told her she was gonna need them tonight. With the hidden villages in a rare state of peace, the Konoha shinobi found themselves in an unfamiliar situation: leisure. They still trained furiously, and occasional missions required their usual focus and skill; but outside these minimal exceptions, they had an almost unforeseen amount of free time. Time to pick up hobbies like playing music, apparently, and, as teens are wont to do, party.

Rock Bar was one of a few sleazier bars that wasn't terribly observant of the legal drinking age. If a band was playing or there was an open mic, the bartenders didn't really care if you were under twenty as long as your event was bringing business. Plus, Sakura was pretty sure some relative of some friend worked or used to work there. Or something.

Not being much of a drinker herself, she had only visited Rock Bar on a few occasions, always to pick up Ino at the tail end of a wild night. It wasn't really her scene. But tonight, she found herself at the Konbini up the street from the bar, waiting till it was half past ten and she could appropriately enter, fashionably late. Something was drawing her there, just as something had compelled her to pick up cigarettes; a strange, mutely elated energy.

Maybe this was the universe telling her to chill out. Get out of her head, like Ino said. Kick back, have fun, catch up with her cohorts. Some of the guys frequented Rock Bar quite regularly, and if their friends were performing, almost everyone was sure to be there.

Almost everyone…

She shook her head roughly, as if physically expelling the thought from her brain. No. Not tonight. She would not think about Sasuke. This was definitely the world telling her to let go, at least for a few hours.

At 10:29 she put out her cigarette and headed to the bar, a hole in the wall alongside some similar establishments. Excuses on the tip of her tongue (flimsy ones like, "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realize Rock Bar was a _bar_...") lest her age be scrutinized, she went inside, but no one so much as glanced in her direction. In fact, there were shockingly few people there, for a Thursday. She had imagined it would be crawling, albeit with her underage peers. She felt a pang of disappointment. Had she come _too_ fashionably late? Or had she actually misheard Ino's invitation due to her incessant distraction?

Finally, a bartender noticed her presence and came to her aid.

"Band's downstairs." He nodded toward a door at the back of the dimly lit room.

"Thanks," she replied. Her heart returned to its excited pace. Standing outside herself, she wasn't sure why she was suddenly so delighted. The band could quite possibly suck, and it wasn't like she hadn't been to a party before. There was nothing explicitly special about this night. Yet as she descended the basement stairs, she had to stop herself from taking them two at a time. Whatever its cause, her eager anticipation was making her happier than she'd felt in a long time. She resolved to stop questioning it. She would just have fun.

The basement room was much larger than the first floor, even darker, and had an even longer bar. As originally expected, there was a moderate crowd, and among it some familiar faces. But no music was playing. She cast her eyes toward the stage where only a drum set stood under the orange lights. Maybe she _had_ missed them. Oh well, she told herself. She was there, and she was going to have fun. That was predetermined. Nothing she could do about that.

She went up to the bar and ordered a whiskey sour, simply because it was the first thing that came to mind. She hadn't drunk enough to know what kind of alcohol she preferred, really. But she received the drink without hassle and had just taken a seat at the bar when she heard a high-pitched squeal in the form of her name.

"There you are, hooker!" Ino said, a bit too loudly. Accompanied by Choji and Tenten, she appeared at her side. "What the hell took you? I've been here _forever_."

Smirking, Sakura said, "I can see that. You told me to be late, so…"

"Yeah, I forgot fashionably _early_ is the new thing. Although the _band_ doesn't seem to know that." She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

"Have they not started?" Sakura asked, pulse escalating anew.

"_No_. Naruto forgot some cord thing or something."

"Believe it or not," Tenten chimed in, grinning.

"It should be any minute now," Choji said. Then, raising his glass, "Kanpai!"

They clanked their glasses together and took a deep swig. Ino made a repulsed sound and pushed her empty glass across the bar.

"Disgusting. Another," she told the bartender, who quickly obliged.

Although not used to the taste of liquor herself, Sakura resisted the reflexive grimace, in a strange way savoring the acrid sweetness that coated her tongue and throat. She felt warm, down to her bones. So this is what 'letting go' tastes like…

At that moment applause rang out from across the room, gathering volume and zeal as everyone turned toward the stage. Sakura's head jerked in that direction so fast her hair fell over her eyes, and through the pink strands she could see three familiar forms crossing under the lights. Shaking her locks back into place, she saw Naruto, Shikamaru, and Kiba take their prearranged positions. With his back turned, Naruto exchanged a few indistinct utterances with Shikamaru, fumbling with his guitar strap, adjusting something on the amp and overall taking his time despite their egregiously delayed start. Sakura heard his telltale laugh and realized that the room had fallen mostly silent, excepting a few anticipatory whispers from the back of the crowd. Who would've thought they were such masters of suspense? she thought vaguely, her sarcasm running on autopilot and this time at her own expense, for she found herself as rapt and attentive as anyone else. For all she knew, she didn't even blink in the few seconds that felt like hours in which they just stood there, biding their time, as she grew inexplicably desperate for them to start.

With a nod to Kiba, who had taken his seat at the drum set, Naruto turned to the crowd, and Sakura's breath caught in her throat –

They were off.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: **

**It's SHOW TIME! **

**My internet's being a son of a bitch right now, but I'm heckling it to upload this properly. (Seriously, Japan, you're supposed to be on top of your technological shit.)**

**Anyway. Here is the set list as far as I'm concerned (all songs by Sum 41):**

**Underclass Hero  
The Hell Song  
Over My Head (Better Off Dead)  
Walking Disaster  
Motivation  
Pieces  
In Too Deep**

**Yup. I guess I should mention I don't own shit - not _Naruto_, not Sum 41's music. If I owned _Naruto_ it would be way smuttier and if I owned Sum 41 it would be like...less shitty. I guess. (Lol hi flamers, clearly I like the band, but like, wow, I dunno, give me a break, they're not musical geniuses.)**

**ANYWAY. Chapter! Enjoy.**

* * *

Maybe it was the alcohol. The nicotine. The fact that she hadn't gotten much undisturbed sleep of late. Maybe she was coming down with something, or hell maybe she had succumbed to some kind of genjutsu the boys were using, a trick to make everyone think their show was awesome – she wouldn't put it past them. Maybe it was a combination of all these things. Or maybe – just maybe – this was _letting go_. Sakura couldn't describe the sensation for the life of her, didn't recognize it at all as it took hold. All she knew was, from the first deafening clash of drums, the rapid intervention of the guitar, the understated proclamation of _One, two, three – go!_ and the subsequent explosion of melody – intense, aggressive, yet exhilarating – she was gone.

In the space of a few seconds she completely lost track of herself, and when she came to she was laughing. A short gust of a guffaw, entirely inaudible between the crowd and the music, that escaped her so violently she jerked back into consciousness. Her drink, forgotten in her hand until this point, she brought to her lips and held there, pressed to her chin as she realized why she had chuckled: she couldn't believe they were _this good_.

The silly little boys she had grown up with (well, some sillier than others) had suddenly reincarnated as some species of badass, taken the stage in front of a crowd of strangers, and owned it. Maybe it wasn't exactly her type of music – she would never have listed 'hard rock' as an obvious favorite before – but nonetheless she found herself totally under its spell, frozen, struck dumb. There was no other way to put it: they were fucking killing it.

Just as she managed to shut her gaping mouth, she felt a tap on her arm and started – she had nearly forgotten there were other people in the room. Ino had appeared at her side, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. She seemed to be yelling, but through the cathartic din Sakura could only just make out the words _Let's get closer_.

With a nod that betrayed her inexplicable enthusiasm, Sakura slid off her stool and, guided only by the tug of Ino's hand on hers, weaved through the undulating masses. Glass hugged to her chest lest it spill, she grazed past countless swaying bodies, skin dampening with sweat as they moved deeper into the crowd.

Suddenly she became aware of her rapidly racing heart. Had it been like this all night, pounding with all the force and magnitude of a bass drum? Was it simply the music – the volume, the chaotic pace – bombarding her senses, overwhelming her mentally _and_ physically? Surely that was it, she thought, for as she neared the stage, she felt her pulse escalate anew, accelerating subtly with every step until finally they reached the front row.

There, before the merciless barrage of the speakers, in the unrelenting heat of the crowd, and the glare of the orange stage lights, she froze. Her senses overloaded. Her mind clouded with drink and her body feeling oddly estranged from the rest of her. Her heart pounding, pulsing in time with the music –

She smiled. Beyond her control or understanding, it spread across her entire face, making her cheeks ache. The sensation – whatever it was – had peaked. She felt like she was on the brink of something – and it felt _good_.

At that moment Ino turned to her, and once again she had to read her lips:

"Dance, you trollop!" she seemed to say, and without hesitation Sakura obeyed. She downed the rest of her drink and let the warmth fill her, down to the core, out through her limbs, the crown of her head. The movement came naturally, guided by every arc of melody, every emphatic downbeat. Her eyes had closed, and when she opened them what she saw shocked her anew.

She couldn't help but stare, her grin slowly morphing into an incredulous gape once again. Not four feet away from her stood the boy, the teammate, that she thought she knew so well; that she'd known since childhood; that she'd spent the past five years with in such proximity that she thought nothing he could do could surprise her – and she barely recognized him.

Were it not for the telltale orange pants and black T-shirt with the single red _tomoe_, she might not have known it was Naruto. Maybe it was just the mounting catharsis of the bridge – the superior elevation of the stage – the blinding colored lights – but he seemed (for lack of access to her usual vocabulary in her bewildered state) _different_, somehow. There was no goofy grin or comical awkwardness to be seen. No obnoxious perversion or inexorable childishness to be detected.

He seemed…confident. Strong. He was usually these things, she noted, but for some reason, this was different. It was as if his typical attributes were focused and magnified – by the lights, the stage, the attention of an entire room of stunned but cheering people. He seemed chill, collected, in a situation wherein Sakura realized she herself would be extremely nervous.

He seemed…cool.

An explosion of applause derailed her train of thought. The song was over, and there she was whooping and cheering with the others, screaming his name. Who would've thought she'd ever find herself doing that? she thought sadistically, her smirk making a triumphant return. World's most surprising ninja indeed.

They moved directly into the next song, managing to befuddle her once again. She would've thought, with all the distant mysteriousness they had maintained at the start of the show, that they would eventually address the audience, unable to resist an off-color comment or some other characteristic quip while they had everyone's attention. At least the names of the songs or an introduction to the band members or _something_.

But no. They carried on, one song after the other, one surprise after the next, until they were done. In the eruption of applause and approving shouts that followed, Naruto finally cracked a smile – not his usual flashy grin, teeth bared in an over-exuberant display of will, but a subdued version. A genuine one. A slightly sheepish, but definitely pleased, smile. With a mumbled utterance of "Thank you," he left the stage, Shikamaru and Kiba following suit.

Were it not for Ino's insistent exclamation of "Drinks!" Sakura might have stood there forever, paralyzed before the stage, a statue commemorative of their debut performance. But she tore herself away, mindlessly heeding her friend's commanding barks and snaking through the mob that had now gathered around the bar, her euphoria matched only by her confusion.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Well this is late as shit.**

**I wrote this ages ago but spent more time editing it than I've genuinely ever spent editing my own work before. Including throughout my entire undergrad career (winning). There's something about transcribing stories that began as an intricate daydream that I find really challenging. It worked so well in my head that I obsess over every goddamn detail to try to convey everything I originally fathomed. **

**Also life's been kind of a bucket of shitballs and angst, so that didn't really help my productivity. Let's just say it's been hard to write about "love" lately. But oh well, life goes on.**

**The next chapter's been written for a while as well, so I should be able to edit and upload that soon. **

**Read. Cheers.**

**Morbid Original**

* * *

Maybe it was the liquor. The nicotine. Or just the restoration of her senses, as the overhead lights came up and the room returned to a normal decibel level. Or perhaps she really had fallen victim to some technique from which she was just now emerging, dazed and vaguely nauseous from the abrupt transition back to reality. Whatever the cause she couldn't shake it, the whirlwind of wordless thoughts and combative emotions that suddenly swelled inside her.

She couldn't wrap her head around it. She had had fun, that was undeniable. Her mission for the night had been executed successfully. So why was her elation so rapidly fading, overtaken by some powerful breed of perplexity she'd never felt before?

She looked to the now darkened stage, the latent instruments and curled stacks of wires. Everything that had just moments ago blazed with light and life, strength and energy now seemed dormant, discarded, strangely inanimate. The music that had so carried her away had stopped. What had for the first time in years freed her from the importunate plague of thought, her every capricious qualm of heart, had come to its necessary end, draining her of joy; pumping her heavy with the concerns she had briefly shirked.

But it was more than just the absence of music that disturbed her, she realized, staring down at the drink that had appeared in her hand. It was the music itself. Or more accurately, the singer.

"Were those covers?" she asked the bartender, having lost track of Ino in her distraction.

He shook his head. "Nope. All original. Pretty fucking strong, right? For a bunch of kids."

She nodded absently, her trepidation confirmed, and retreated to a corner table to sit beyond the chatter of the crowd.

Naruto might not have acted like his typical, boisterous self during the set, she thought, but the music positively _screamed_ of him. The palpable angst, the vivacious energy – and the lyrics. It had shocked her stupid at first to hear him produce that poetry, that impassioned prose. Sure, it wasn't the most clever or complex of verbiage, but it had moved her, empowered her. Made her feel like she wasn't alone, combating the petty frustrations of youth. But still it left a bad taste in her mouth to think that her friend – her teammate – had written all that. Had felt enough pain to pen those words, take the microphone, and release them into the world for all to hear. For her to hear.

'Better off dead' – really? Could he possibly think that? 'A walking disaster'? 'I'm better off on my own'?

Another outburst of whistles and cheers jostled Sakura from her thoughts (and nearly knocked her from her chair as well) as a throng of bystanders flocked in her direction. Unknowingly, she had planted herself just outside the backstage door from which the boys were now emerging, Naruto in the lead.

Watching him accept all the words of praise, the fist bumps and high fives from friends and strangers alike, her heart lifted a little. There was no way, she told herself, that the boy who beamed and laughed before her now could really feel as dejected as the songs implied. As distraught and lonely and unwanted. It simply wasn't possible. The others must have written them, she concluded, or maybe she had just read too far into their implications. They were just lyrics, after all. They didn't have to mean anything.

But still a nagging doubt persisted, knotting her stomach as she stood.

"Sakura-chan!" Naruto exclaimed, her name sounding more like a question than a greeting. He brushed past the congratulators that stood between them and hugged her, squeezing her so tight she couldn't respond.

While it wasn't unlike Naruto to be physical with her in moments of excitement, she couldn't help but feel taken aback by the bold gesture. Something about the feel of his pulse against her cheek, the thud of his heart against hers – the overall tangibility of his post-performance adrenaline – made it feel overly intimate, overwhelming. She knew how it must have seemed to the lookers-on as he'd rushed straight to her, renouncing their attention in favor of hers. But even so, she couldn't move, could make no effort to chastise him for his brashness. She remained stalk-still in the rigidity of his grasp, the extreme warmth that radiated from him.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have hugged you, I'm all sweaty and gross," he said breathlessly, running a hand through damp hair. Perhaps it was just his elevated temperature, but his face looked slightly red when he released her. "I just can't believe you're here."

Sakura gave him a playful nudge. "Like I'd miss your first show," she replied, sounding more collected than she felt. She tried to ignore her furious heartbeat, her feverish flush, chalking it up to her own residual excitement from the show; but still the dull ache in the pit of her stomach remained, throbbed as the last of his warmth evaporated from her skin. "And don't worry, I'm sweaty too, from dancing."

His eyes brightened noticeably at the comment, lips quirking into a smile. This was the same, old Naruto after all. The one who reveled in any slight display of approval, any allowance of attention. But this thought brought little comfort as her mind raced with the lyrics he had sung, the conviction with which he'd pronounced them. She could no longer extract from her mental image of him the orange spotlight, the boy on stage who had cornered her somewhere between impressed and depressed. She felt guilty, as if any sadness on his part were her fault. She was his friend, after all. How hadn't she noticed?

"What're you drinking?" he asked, pointing to the glass that Sakura had once again forgotten she was holding.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, shrugging. "I guess Ino ordered it for me."

"You don't _know_?" he repeated, one blond brow arching over the other, grin as amused as ever. "Are you wasted?"

"Please, not even." Despite her concerns, Sakura found herself particularly susceptible to his contagious grin as she handed him her drink. He took a sip and winced, thrusting the glass back to her, eliciting a laugh. He had always had a talent for cheering her up, even if it was him she was worried about.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a tequila girl," he said between disgusted sputters.

"Well aren't we all just full of surprises, then?" she returned, bringing the glass to her lips – and parroting his reaction exactly. "Okay, this is just horrible," she admitted, laughing.

Face still scrunched in a grimace, he took the glass from her hand and placed it on the table. "Let's get a real drink," he said, then with a convivial wink, "C'mon – the band drinks for free."

Sakura followed him back to the bar, their progress impeded as every newfound fan stopped to speak to him, shake his hand, slap his back, offer him drinks. At times she lost sight of him entirely, completely cut off by a ring of admirers young and old, but always he would emerge from their depths, looking for her.

"Jesus, sorry," he mumbled, as they finally reached the bar. "It's easy to lose people in here." They sat, and as he flagged down the bartender, still more people came to offer their congratulations, their praise, and Sakura could only look on in awe. Contrary to his cool composure during the show, he now seemed vaguely flustered, embarrassed; unsure of how to react to the compliments.

Maybe this wasn't exactly the type of acknowledgement he'd always sought, but it had to count for something, Sakura thought as another group of well-wishers said their piece, leaving his cheeks slightly red but his grin as big as ever. Her unease began to dissipate. She was happy for him. She was proud.

"Sorry," he muttered again, staring into his beer.

"Don't apologize," she said, the force in her tone snapping his eyes to her. "You deserve it. You kicked ass." Now she was quite sure he was blushing, not just reddening from the heat; but his smile cut through his mild discomfort.

"Thanks, Sakura-chan."

"When did you start playing?" she asked, finding herself genuinely interested.

"Like a couple months ago."

She nearly spit out her vodka tonic. "_A couple months_? As in _two_?"

He nodded, not seeming to comprehend her incredulity. With a sigh, she shook her head. Leave it to Naruto to pick something up and master it in record time, just because he could.

"That's incredible," she admitted, causing the blond to flush once again. "Really, Naruto. That's awesome. You guys killed it tonight."

"It went pretty well," he said, his modesty continuing to astonish her. "Kiba just found all this equipment at his cousins' house, and since they weren't using it anymore he told us to check it out." He paused to consider the half-empty stein in his hand. "I didn't really think it would go anywhere."

But it did. It had. For the past two months he had been committing himself to something new and extraordinary, something that had blown her away – and she hadn't even known about it until that night, even though she saw him almost every day. What else had she missed, she wondered, when she'd been too wrapped up in her own shit to register the life around her? Too obsessed with her own selfish concerns, too trapped in her own head?

Once again she felt her heart sink, past the sphere of concern and into a bitter well of guilt. She had been a terrible friend, she thought, even to those she was closest with. Those she needed the most.

"Is that why you didn't invite me to the show?" she asked quietly, swirling the drink in her hand, listening to the ice pop and clink against the glass. _Because you thought I wouldn't care?_ "Because you didn't think it'd be any good?"

Naruto looked up, taken aback by the question, almost as if he'd heard what she'd truly wanted to ask. "No, I just…didn't think you liked this type of music."

Before she could offer any response, she felt an arm wrap around her neck in a chummy sort of chokehold that could only belong to –

"_There_ you are, you sneaky little strumpet!"

…a rather intoxicated Ino.

"Where _the fuck_ do you keep wandering off to?" she drawled, her face so near Sakura's it looked as if she might kiss her – which, at this point in the night, she might very well attempt to do. It wouldn't be the first time.

Ignoring her own question, she turned to the wide-eyed blond beside her. "Cool job Naruto that was sick have you seen Kiba?" she asked, her thoughts running together into one vaguely synthesized sentence.

"Uh…he's around here somewhere…"

"Why?" Sakura cut in, her premature smirk confirming she already knew the answer.

"Uh, duh." Ino rolled her eyes skyward, gesturing emphatically with every syllable. "'Cause he looked fucking _hot_ tonight and I want some," she declared shamelessly. Naruto had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh.

"Really? I didn't notice," Sakura teased, but with some alarm she found her words to be true – literally. She hadn't noticed him at all. From the time they took their places at the start of the show, for all she knew he hadn't even been on stage.

"Then what the fuck were you ogling at all night?" her friend demanded, too preoccupied with her search for Kiba to see the color drain from Sakura's face as her internal answer smacked her like a sack of bricks. She knew all too well what had captivated her attention, monopolized her gaze and overall infiltrated her mind. She knew it down to every flinch of the faintest whisker mark, every subtle shift of light in those cerulean eyes; every annunciation emanated from his mouth song after song, word after word…

The knot in her stomach pulsed.

But before she could process any further an exaggerated gasp shook Sakura from her thoughts, and she feared her stunned expression had exposed her queer revelation. But Ino's astonishment stemmed from something else entirely.

"Sakura, you foxy little slut," was all she uttered, gaze aimed just over her friend's pink head.

Sakura turned and froze. Her mind shut down, went black, her previous train of thought forgotten.

"I can't believe you invited him – I can't believe he came!" Ino hissed in her ear as Sasuke crossed over to them, face as blank and unreadable as ever in the dim fluorescent light.

Her mind screamed, but the words could encroach nowhere near her mouth.

_I…I didn't invite him…_

In a flash of panic she looked to Naruto, afraid Ino's words would have somehow incensed him, but his face revealed only that he shared in her shock. In their mutual paralysis, Ino was the one to break the silence.

"_Sasuke_-_kun_! You made it!"

He came to stand right behind Sakura, leaning against the bar. She imagined this to be an effort to shield himself from Ino, her body simply the barricade, but nonetheless her skin prickled at the feel of his body heat, the vague advancement of his scent, the overall familiarity of the gesture. His hand on her chair. His forearm encroaching upon her portion of the bar as he positioned himself to regard them all. His head so close to hers, as he leaned forward to speak.

"I caught the last few songs. Pretty cool, Naruto."

Unable to turn and face him, suffocated by the proximity, she focused on Naruto instead. Watched his eyes widen at the noncommittal compliment, a curious and increasingly recurrent gleam engulfing those oceanic orbs. It was the past, Sakura recognized. The ghost of his former self flitting to the surface at these words of approval, this paltry token of the acceptance he so feverishly desired.

Suddenly she found herself white-hot with rage as her mind filled with a torrent of toxicity. How dare he patronize Naruto like that? How dare he waltz back into his life and reduce him to a desperate child again in a few measly words, ignorant of the progress and growth the past five years had brought? And how dare he show up and make _her_ feel shitty on the night she was supposed to have fun, supposed to let go and escape the constant harrying thought of him?

Without the slightest hint of malevolence intended, Sasuke had infuriated her. He was trying to be nice, she knew, but she couldn't control it. His every effort at kindness, at familiarity, at camaraderie, sent her over the edge of some emotional precipice – sometimes anger, sometimes grief – from which there could be no swift return. Usually she could suppress these sentiments, beat them into submission with the knowledge of his sincere well-meaning – until she was alone, powerless in the face of her insurmountable hurt, her unjustifiable fury –

But tonight there was no such shred of rationale to restrain her. No relief to be found in her logical understanding of the reality. Maybe she had forsaken her self-control _too_ well in her effort to have fun, but whatever the reason, she found her anger unshakable. Found _she_ was in fact shaking, unsure how to escape the situation without screaming in his face or breaking down in tears.

But then she remembered a third option.

In the dull light, the garrulous crowd, it seemed no one had noticed her impending episode – the telling quiver, the glistening eyes. She managed, in a voice much steadier than she expected:

"Do you wanna go smoke a cigarette?"

It was Naruto who received this query, her loaded gaze, and with raised brows he nodded. "Sure."

She hopped off her chair and walked as briskly as her feigned nonchalance would allow to the nearest exit, her ire ebbing noticeably with each step.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Once again, I stared at this chapter for far too long and rewrote and rewrote and REWROTE the shit out of it. Finally I'm fairly satisfied. Yeehaw.**

**I'd like to thank a couple people who have loyally reviewed this story from the beginning: Czar Ryno and Tony Blu.  
It's been a long time since I've written for this site, and your words have been super encouraging. So just in case anyone actually reads author's notes (unlikely, based off my own tendencies), now y'all know who the good ones are. Thanks a lot, guys. :]**

**On a completely separate note: there's a decent chance the next chapter could be pretty...graphic. I do not intend for this story to become *smutty* per se; I value the storyline above all else. _But_, it's rated M for a reason, so...Fair warning. **

**Enjoy.**

**Morbid Original**

* * *

The patio – if you could call it that – was a lightless enclosure of bare cement and bars, a couple stand ashtrays the only furnishings to speak of. Extending from the basement, the small space stood about a floor below ground-level with one set of stairs leading up to a locked gate, beyond that the street. This, Sakura supposed, was where they brought in the inventory for the basement bar – and likely the most popular entrance for underage punks who couldn't make it past the bartender.

All this she registered in the back of her mind as the door crashed open, a guiltless casualty of her pent up aggression, and she posted herself against the nearest wall, fumbling in her purse for her cigarettes.

"Are you okay?"

She started slightly, surprised to see Naruto already in the doorway. He must have stayed hot on her heels as she briskly navigated the packed room, burst through the poor patio door. She nodded dumbly, knowing it was no use to lie to him but starting to anyway.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just…" She extracted the pack of cigarettes. "…I just _can't_ deal with him right now," she admitted, bitter smile flitting over her face. "I'm sorry, I can't."

"Don't apologize," he said, repeating her recent reproach. In the dark, his eyes gleamed with concern as she furiously packed the cigarettes against the heel of her hand, each sharp rap echoing of her agitation.

She lit up with a trembling hand, exhaled an immense billow of smoke, watched it float from her lips and disperse. Similarly did her bile abate with each dizzying inhale of night air, its every caress on her damp skin, her burning forehead. She closed her eyes for a moment, sighed.

"I'm fine," she said slowly, raising to him a small but reassuring smile. "I promise." She offered him the pack of cigarettes, and he took one.

"I didn't know you smoke," he said, producing his own lighter from his pocket and striking it. For a split second the flames danced around his face, reminiscent of the Kyuubi's ethereal aura.

"Only on special occasions," she replied.

"You thought the gig was a 'special occasion'? I'm flattered," he teased, smoke emanating from his trademark grin.

"Yep, and I almost managed to have fun…"

She shouldn't have said it, she knew, but it was too late. The grin had faltered, and he looked at her with such sadness she could sense it even in the dark.

"It's really messing with you, isn't it? Him being back," he said softly, eyes averting to the cigarette between his fingers.

Sakura said nothing, unwilling to voice her thoughts aloud lest they evolve into fact, an admission irrevocably imparted by her own tongue. But her silence was as much an answer in itself.

"I just…really thought…things would make sense again, if he came back," she said slowly, carefully. "…But…everything's just more confusing than ever."

When he didn't respond she looked up, saw him considering her in silence, and she realized he was prepared to just listen as she let everything out, ran the whole goddamn gamut of her stupid emotional turmoil until she was done, depleted, and maybe slightly exorcized of the anguish that ailed her. He would let her literally talk him to death if she chose to, if that's what it took, but she had no intention of doing that. Not tonight. Not to the friend she had so neglected of late that his reciprocal kindness nearly brought tears to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to just bitch and moan all over the place on your big night," she said, crushing her cigarette out on the nearby ashtray as if to extinguish the preceding conversation.

"No, it's okay. I mean," he flicked the filter with his thumb, peppering the ground with ash; "I feel like an asshole saying this, but…it's kind of nice to know I'm not the only one."

Sakura's heart stopped. Ached, suddenly, as if she'd been hit dead in the chest by a roundhouse kick. She couldn't speak, and when Naruto didn't look up she realized he didn't expect her to. Her selfishness, her narcissism, didn't surprise him, and neither did her successive guilt.

As she stared on in shameful silence the image of the boy she'd seen on stage – the controlled fury of his words, his conspicuously contrary composure – merged with that of the comrade she now regarded. Finally the two halves seemed to fit together. It was no wonder that his lyrics spoke of such pain and conflict – and that they had so touched her. He needed little imagination to summon these ideas to the surface, and the discord he drew upon in his songs was _exactly_ what she suffered. The same confusion, the same inner turmoil. From the same source.

"Wow," Sakura choked, shaking her head at her own idiocy. "I must be the dumbest person alive. I'm so sorry."

"Sakura-chan –"

"No, don't negate it – I owe you an apology and you're getting one!" He cracked a smile despite the gravity of her tone. "Fuck," she sighed, retrieving the pack of cigarettes once again. "I'm so fucking sorry. I've been the shittiest friend in the world."

Before she could search for her own, he produced his lighter, lit her cigarette.

"Don't worry about it." As if she could resist. "I'm like you: I don't like to talk about it." He accepted another cigarette, and in its meager light his smile looked stronger than he probably felt.

She fought – for the sake of her stupid mission, her flippant goal to 'have fun' – to hold back tears, but the wind revealed that she'd failed; in its gentle sweep her cheeks stung cold along two wet lines.

"I'm still sorry," she said, her voice a feeble whisper. "It must be just as hard on you."

He tapped the ash from his cigarette, sighing.

"I mean, it's complicated." He leaned against the wall beside her, facing the blackness of the cement enclosure. "Like…It's great he's back and everything, but…" He exhaled a puff of smoke, looked down at the cigarette, seemed to search for the words he wanted in its pitiful beacon.

"But what?" she pried. He shook his head through another cloud of haze, seeming to have abandoned his thought. With a light but insistent kick to the shin, she asked again. "What?"

He glanced at her, eyes flashing, but perhaps it was just the reflection of the cherry. With another sigh, this one louder, exasperated, he continued.

"I don't know, it's stupid, but…I guess I'm just pissed I didn't get to keep my promise to you."

Silence fell with all the force of a blow to the head, and Sakura felt just as woozy. Her knees buckled, legs went weak; were it not for the wall she leaned against she thought she might have collapsed. For a prolonged moment all she could do was stare at the silhouette sharply carved out of the blackness beside her, the stiffened shoulders, the lowered gaze. Her tears had stopped, choked off by a sudden tightening in her chest. Her pulse had been jumpstarted, it seemed, and now followed the impassioned beat of a heart running over with pity and guilt.

How could she have forgotten? That stupid promise, born out of the loneliness and desperation of a sad young boy who had just wanted to make her happy. Who still strove undyingly toward this end all these years later, even if his childish crush had abated. _If_ it had…

She shivered, shaken out of her daze just in time to feel the ember of her own forgotten cigarette encroach close to her knuckles, scalding her briefly before she tossed it to the ground.

"Maybe that's my problem too," she finally uttered, making him turn to her in surprise. "I never got to prove myself…never got to show him I'm not just some weak little girl anymore." She sighed raggedly, wiping the traces of tears from her face. "He got off so easy. Just waltzing his ass back to Konoha on his own free will, expecting everyone to just accept it."

To her surprise Naruto chuckled, faintly but genuinely.

"At least you abandoned him with Ino," he joked. "That's pretty much a fate worse than death."

She couldn't help but snicker at the idea. Ino annoyed Sasuke at the best of times, and she wasn't exactly showcasing her shining charisma to its full potential that night.

"Yeah, serves him right."

In the ensuing pause she noted her racing heart with some disinterest. It still beat furiously, pumping her full of a mélange of feelings spanning the entire capacity of human sentiment; but the heaviness had subsided. Despite the weight of the topic at hand she felt remarkably light, relieved of some of the proverbial baggage her teammate had taken off her hands – or agreed to carry with her, at least. She opened her mouth to thank him – for the talk, his persistent dedication, his friendship – but his words came quicker. And somehow they managed to shock her again.

"I thought you'd be thrilled," he mumbled. Eyes down, lips twitched into a half-hearted smile. "To have him back."

It was not so much the words themselves but the way he said them that pierced her to the core, made the knot in her stomach hitch. Her heart beat in the back of her eyeballs by the time she managed to answer him.

"So did I."

The admission was difficult, but honest. And when his widened eyes snapped to her she was smiling.

An odd sensation began to fill her, flood her tangled insides, as she met his gaze, steady, unwavering despite the flashes of moonlight that caught therein. She felt weak in the knees again, almost faint. Probably from the nicotine, she reasoned. Dehydration. Exhaustion.

"I think I'm gonna get out of here," she said, cautiously pushing off the wall to stand upright. "I need a walk or something."

He straightened beside her, taking the terminal drag of his cigarette.

"Are you okay to go alone? You've been drinking," he ventured, perhaps noticing the strange imbalance that had seized her.

She shook her head vehemently. "It's cool, I'm basically sober now. I sweat all the alcohol out." She smirked, cocked one pink brow over the other. "Besides: I'm a _ninja_, remember?"

He laughed, grin turning mischievous as he returned, "Oh, really? I thought you were a groupie."

Before her arm could even reel back for a blow, he had darted up the stairs, jumped the locked gate. He stared down at her through the bars, bizarrely backlit by the streetlights.

"See, a ninja would've smacked the shit out of me for that," he taunted. Then, flicking the dying butt of his cigarette to the ground before her, "I'll go with you."

Relaxing her hands from their reflexive fists, Sakura mounted the stairs, eyes narrowed at her cocky counterpart. "I don't wanna drag you away from your following or anything."

"It's alright, my _true_ fans will understand." He grinned through the bars, face to face with her now as she reached the top of the stairs. "Besides, I could use a walk myself."

"Aw, but I didn't bring a leash," she returned, paired with a sardonic pout.

"Okay, you're lucky this gate is here, or I –"

She vaulted over their meager divider, landing directly behind him poised in fighting stance. He chuckled, turning slowly to face her.

"'Or I would sic my fans on you,' I was gonna say," he offered, and in her apparent disbelief added, "I swear!"

She dropped the offensive stance, the potency of her warning glare significantly weakened by the smile that accompanied. With a resigned sigh she started off, no destination in mind, no hurry to decide upon one. She simply walked, let the sensations of night fill her, clear her hazy head. It worked to some degree, and she soon felt her strength return, her balance restored despite the lingering pit in her stomach, pulsating curiously from time to time when her cohort would speak, draw her from whatever lazy reverie would beset her.

What had caused her brief upset on the patio she couldn't quite grasp. Chalked it up to the heat of the moment – of the topic, rather; the excessive smoking; the confusing release she had felt finding kin in her troubles. Whatever it was it had ebbed greatly, cleared away by the crisp air of twilight, the laughter that rumbled from her at her friend's every jest. It didn't matter now. Curious as it was, it was over. That mysterious wooziness…

Catching herself in the midst of another pointless and futile attempt to understand her every bout of psyche, she shook her head, banishing the unwanted thoughts in favor of experiencing the present. But where she found herself when she emerged from this daze perplexed her more than all topics hitherto discussed.

In her fatigued aimlessness she had terminated their stroll in front of his apartment – not the building, but his door – and with this realization came the resurgence of her raging pulse, the chilly perspiration, the weakened knees and swimming head. She couldn't still be drunk, she thought vaguely, nor subject to her long diminished adrenaline from the show. It simply wasn't physically possible.

But as her friend mumbled some cliché line about how the _guy_ was supposed to walk the _girl_ home, it clicked. Somewhere in the back of her busy mind, barely audible above her thunderous pulse, she grasped it – the cause of her behavior, the strange symptoms that assailed her.

She was swooning. That was all.

Or maybe it was the alcohol. The nicotine. Maybe she had been drugged, or maybe it was just her exhaustion; her recent lack of sleep; her constant struggle for composure amidst her unshakable confusion. Her guilt. Her empathy. Or, just maybe, she really had managed to _let_ _go_, totally and finally.

Maybe too much.

Whatever the reason, it fled far beyond the reaches of her conscious mind in that moment, in that second that seemed like eternity.

Whatever the reason, when Naruto extended his arms to hug her, to wish her goodnight and peacefully take his leave, she kissed him.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: CHRIST ON A BIKE AN UPDATE! WHAT?!**

**Yeah, so this is late as hell. Who would've thought a full time job would FULLY take up your TIME? I DIDN'T. **

**But alas, it seems to. Sorry. This has been in the works for-fucking-ever now, but it's finally at a place where I'm comfortable publishing it. Spent way too much time editing again - hopefully it was worth it. **

**Also, while I was busy NOT WRITING this story, I caught up on a decent amount of "Naruto." I guess this fic fits in right after Sasuke kills Itachi, before he decides Konoha can fuck itself (I'll deal with that later). So as of this story's setting, nothing cool like defeating Pein, Jiraiya dying, Naruto saving the village, etc. has happened. Unfortunately. But so it goes.**

**I obsessed over this chapter a little too much, so hopefully the next ones won't take nearly as long to put up. I'm busy as hell but I promise I still give a shit about this story. A chapter per week is not looking likely, but I'll do what I can. Gomen ne. **

**GANBARIMASU!**

**Morbid Original**

* * *

"_Sakura-chan….Is this really happening?"_

The question rang over and over again, echoing off the walls of her otherwise empty mind. The timid inquiry of a perturbed boy emerging in a hesitant whisper lest, God forbid, it break whatever spell had seized them.

_Did_ it really happen? she asked herself, staring at her stoic ceiling. Had she truly crossed that line? Had they ventured past the point of no return, forsaking their friendship forever in favor of some momentary impulse, some fleeting urge? She had no idea what had come over her in that instant, but something had changed. She never acted so impetuously, always stopped to measure pros and cons, the consequences of her actions. Why then had her common sense so entirely gone out the fucking window at such a crucial moment?

In apparent mockery of her helplessness, the ceiling offered no response.

"Shit," she mumbled aloud, the harsh word the first to leave her lips in hours.

* * *

She felt him gasp against her lips, freeze beneath her crushing contact as she pushed him to the wall. It had happened outside herself, that first collision; brutal, unskilled, yet somehow confident. She could feel his surprise in his unmoving mouth, his body stiff against hers. Somewhere beneath the haze she knew this hesitation to be the logical reaction. The fight or flight response: gauge the situation, register the dangers, then choose the path with the greatest chance of survival. The path that would hurt them the least.

But there was no such option. She had already kissed him – was _still_ kissing him. If they stopped they would have to face what had transpired – what _she_ had forced upon them in their already precarious dynamic. Scenarios of every conceivable consequence rushed through her skull, each more dire than the previous, packing more and more panic until they stopped – cut off by the distraction of uncertain hands coming to her hips.

It was as if her busy brain had severed from the rest of her nervous system. Her thoughts completely ceased, drowned out by the sudden well of excitement rising from the pit of her stomach, the hot flush that charged through her head to toe as he started to kiss back, slowly, unsurely. Then more insistently.

She felt him relax, his touch light but warm as it climbed the small of her back, her shoulder blades. His lips were dry but perfectly smooth, surprisingly soft. Their rhythms matched almost immediately, choreographing to each other's compulsions; keeping it delicate, unhurried. Until a graze of teeth against his lower lip beseeched his mouth to open, and tongues crept out to meet.

She stood on tiptoe now, stretching to gain access beyond the parted lips where she yearned to explore. Every languid caress of his tongue stoked a rising heat inside her, made her cheeks go hot. Fingers clutched at the well worn fabric of his T-shirt as his grip around her tightened, mounted to lace through her hair. With an accidental tug on the pink tresses came the sound, a tiny, startled moan from her swollen lips, and she opened her eyes.

* * *

She snapped to attention with a start, the meager, nostalgic noise in her throat shaking her from her reverie. Her room felt cold, inhospitable, bathed in the sterile blue of very early morning. She traced her fingers over tender lips, pressing lightly to gauge the extent of bruising. Eventually she would have to look in the mirror, face her reflection; confront herself about what she had done and try to manufacture some escape.

She had kissed him. She had kissed her best friend, her closest comrade. She had altered their bond forever, and there was no undoing it. It simply wasn't possible. The reality of this sank in as dawn's chill into her skin, its gravity anchoring her to the bed as her heart pulsed a now familiar dread through her veins.

* * *

A flash of panic surged through her as her eyes opened, tongue withdrew behind her teeth. She feared the sight of him – the sight of him seeing _her_ – would shatter the hypnotic force that held them, that had encased their minds in fog and brought them to their current position despite their higher rationality. She wanted to pretend she hadn't opened them, to shut them tight as if straining to preserve a dream from which she'd awoken too soon. But it was no use. She'd broken the kiss. He'd seen her eyes flutter open, felt her go still. She'd already broken the spell.

His grasp loosened slightly; her heart capsized. But when she finally braved to meet his gaze she found it not at all accusatory, nor the least bit affronted. All that the bright blue bore was the haze, the hunger, the vaguest flicker of apprehension she knew must be reflected in her own misty orbs. The same rapid whispers of breath puffed from his reddened lips and hers; identical crimson adorned his whiskers and her porcelain skin. Their twin appearances spoke of one desire.

Reservations thrown to the wind, Sakura leaned back into him, reclaiming his mouth more aggressively than before. His grip on her hair, around her back, strengthened again, and as she writhed in his grasp she heard his breath go ragged, morphing at last into a near painful whine. He began to slow, relax away from her again, doubtlessly fearful of exposing a certain anatomical embarrassment; but she was far past the point of being offended. There was no turning back now. The only way to go was forward.

That much she knew, in the dark primal caverns of her unconscious mind, so when he slackened she pressed closer, hands wandering liberally over his form; weaving through wild hair; grazing taut flesh through the now damp T-shirt; coming to rest on the hem of his pants, fingers dipping eagerly inside to brush fiery skin.

He heaved slightly, depriving her of her grasp on his pants and forcing her back a step. For an instant she flooded once again with the fear of being stopped, of having to evaluate her actions or atone for them; but the time for logic had not yet come. With one hand still resting on her hip, the other dug round in his pocket, clumsily producing his key. He palmed it for a moment, considered it, then looked back at her. When all she did was blink he closed his fist around the key, releasing her only long enough to unlock the door and swing it open.

* * *

For all the manic thoughts bombarding her she could find among them no viable solution to her plight. Her vision came to focus once again on the ceiling, its ambivalent white a mockery of her; immaculate, untouched. She groaned, rolled onto her side only to groan again, louder, at the pain in her lower abdomen, her inner thighs.

She pressed her hand to her stomach, exhaling deeply to relieve some of the discomfort. It didn't hurt, exactly; but it felt sore, hollow. Her hand traveled lower, gliding over the pleated skirt she was still wearing from the previous night, clutching gingerly at its hem. The flannel contrasted pleasantly with the velvet skin of her thigh, the sleek arc of her quadriceps toward her hips, and in between them more clandestine territory. She ran a finger over the negligible cotton garment that shielded her womanhood (for she was meant to be a woman now, supposedly, as if she wasn't before), felt a subtle tingling in the sensitive tissue beneath.

She clamped her thighs shut over her roving hand, arresting it in a trap of glossy flesh. The abrupt movement sent a cramping tremor through her solar plexus, and she released another soothing breath, squeezing her eyes closed.

* * *

The door slammed shut with a clash of finality, making her start; but the minuscule gasp she released against his lips her partner received as just another moan, followed this cue to tighten his grip around her, press against her harder so that she was almost suspended between him and the entryway wall. There was something alarmingly decisive about the crash, the abrasive signal that they had _entered his apartment_, crossed into a sphere of privacy implicit of certain intentions; but any anxiety this realization caused capitulated under his touch, the caress of his callused hands, the every bout of his tongue. She felt her knees grow weak at the sensation of her tiniest movement against the thigh he pressed between her legs; clutched to him tighter, grabbing blindly until she found the hem of his shirt, yanking it up to reveal the warm flesh whose contact she so desired.

In her aggression she lost balance, sending them stumbling away from the wall as she worked his shirt over his head, reattaching herself to his smirking lips the second his face was free from the black fabric. As she once again grasped at the waist of his pants she realized they had come to a stop, their frenzied meandering blockaded by the bed.

At the sight of the modest furnishing, the tousled sheets and single pillow, her heart skipped a beat, but a mere glance at her partner's mirrored ambivalence spurred her forward. She pushed him back until he sat then climbed onto his lap, lulling his widened eyes closed with a luxurious sweep of her tongue against his. As his arms tightened around her once again she felt him shake, his muscles quiver as she hovered closer to the obtruding hardness just below her. A hiss escaped his mouth as she brushed against it, sending an electric wave up her back all the way to her head where he grasped feverishly at her hair.

He was near his limit, she knew; could tell from his ragged breath; the trembling hands that roamed over her cautiously, calculatedly, gliding over her shoulders and back with distinctive restraint. He didn't dare contest her boundaries (or his own limitations), but in the heat of his breath and the feel of his bare skin she felt she had none to be crossed. She undid her top, let it slide to the floor as a spark of wonder seared through his hazy stare. He froze beneath her as she reached for the clasp of her bra. In paralytic disbelief he beheld the sight before him, the black lace bolstering milk-white skin that nearly glowed in the moonlight. His gaze broke with a blink, wandered up to meet her own, and through the cloudy blue a question permeated though it could not reach his lips.

Her answer came with the muted snap of her bra coming undone. She cast it aside and crashed against him, a feline sigh escaping her throat at the collision of their naked skin. He lay back as she loomed over him, leaving his lips at last to trail her mouth down his neck, his collar bone. At the graze of wet lips on the nape of his neck she heard his breath hitch, smiled and sucked there as he tensed beneath her. Her nipples hardened as they brushed his heaving chest; a heat rippled from her groin as she rubbed against his erection, eliciting a final moan before he flipped her over, ready to take the reigns – or unable to resist.

He cupped her breast as he traced his tongue down her neck, pausing at the crook of her clavicle to suck lavishly, nibbling the tender skin as she squirmed. She hastily pawed at his pants but in her limited reach couldn't remove them, so she unbuttoned her skirt and tried to shimmy out of it. His hand slid down to cover hers, pulled the skirt off gingerly, leaned in to kiss her as he dragged his pants down.

She wriggled out of her underwear, once again with the help of his steadying hand, and dove her tongue deep into his mouth, clutching roughly at his hair, tugging him closer. She writhed under his gentle touch, his fastidious tenderness, gripped with a sudden urgency. Her heart thundered in her ears as she yanked at his boxers, desperate to remove the final article that opposed her hunger, her need.

But then she stopped. Froze. Quieted by a single utterance that quelled even the hammering of her heart.

He shushed her. She barely heard it, coupled with her heavy breath and the fraught whimpers that fled from her lips. But it was there, subtle as the still night air that flooded from the window; steady as the hand that cupped her face, the thumb that lightly stroked her cheek, traced across her lips. She looked up at him and the fog had diffused entirely from his gaze, replaced with a staggering clarity that shocked her silent, calmed her pulse, rid her body of its overwrought rigidity.

He leaned into her again, pressed to her lips a kiss so slow she thought she might melt. Her eyes fluttered closed as he ran his hand down her side, over the arc of her thigh to rest across her hip bone, wherefrom the thumb stretched out to stroke the tiny jewel between her legs. She gasped at the first electric graze of his touch, writhed as he returned his mouth to her neck, slipping a finger inside as his thumb still circled her clit, swirling around it until she bucked, breath reduced to a hungry pant. With a press of his lips to her throat he removed his boxers, closed the space between them so that every inch of bare skin touched, kissed her delicately. Then with a final prying stare of bright blue eyes she hugged him to her with a squeeze of her thighs, felt him brush against her as a sigh escaped his throat.

* * *

Again her eyes snapped open as her half-conscious dream broke, the recollective reverie disturbed by yet another growl from her lips. She shivered, suddenly susceptible to the cruel chill of morning air from the window, yet she found herself unwilling to turn down the covers and shelter herself in their warmth. Even under the duvet, freshly laid out for autumn's incremental approach, she would still shiver, she thought. She was cold at the core. Her heart was ice. Why else would she have let things go as they had, risking the friendship she valued most – that they _needed_ most, now more than ever? How else could she justify taking advantage of the boy whose feelings, past or present, always bent him to her will?

That had to be the reason he let it happen, she thought. Whether he 'liked' her or not, he always acted out of consideration for her, her happiness. Why else would he have gone through with it if not to appease her fleeting, selfish desires?

Whether he liked her or not, he wouldn't have wanted it like that, she thought. Not with her. She released a great sigh, half expecting to see her breath cloud as another chill climbed her spine.

* * *

His breath on her ear distracted from the brief discomfort of his entrance, the painstakingly considerate execution of their physical union. When the initial difficulty had passed and she felt his hips brush the back of her thighs, she gave a silent signal – a squeeze of their laced fingers – to go on. His lips returned to hers with a new hunger, a slight smirk that widened as he moved into her again, gliding easily now against the smooth wet walls. A tension built where he rubbed against her, the sensation mounting through her body until her breath degraded to sharp gasps. Almost outside her control her grip around him tightened, nails dug deep into his skin.

He moved faster now, trembling with every collision of his hips against the backs of her thighs, breath unabashedly ragged against her lips. She couldn't breathe, head clouding with a building heat that made her squeeze her eyes shut, her throat close. His movement grew erratic, strained, as he pressed his face into her neck, a growl gathering in his throat that reverberated through his every motion. When she finally managed to draw a breath her chest hitched, back arched; the air fled from her lips in a startling cry she hadn't expected but couldn't suppress as white-hot waves shot through her, wracking her body as would an electric shock until with a groan her partner crumpled on top of her. The pervading light faded from her vision as she quieted, her breath and body stilled beneath him.

* * *

The first tentative rays of sunlight peered through the window, spilled across the floor and bed. At the caress of its fragile golden warmth on her face Sakura rolled away, shirking its comfort for the cold shadows where she belonged. She lowered unsteady legs to the chill wood floor and crossed to the mirror, bracing herself with a deep breath.

It fled from her in what was almost a gasp the second she came to face her reflection. She certainly looked like she'd done something idiotic. Her hair mussed, clothes disheveled, makeup smeared under her eyes. Her neck spattered with red and purple marks. Bruises tinted her lips and the backs of her thighs. She looked like she'd just escaped a hostage situation, not partied at a bar then stupidly fucked her friend.

Her _friend_. Jesus. If he even fit that description now, after what they'd done. After what she'd forced upon them. After what she'd said.

_"Sakura-chan…"_

* * *

They lay there for a moment gathering their breath, steadying their shaking limbs, staring up at the ceiling. It slowly came into focus as the fog cleared from her brain, satiated at last. Suddenly her heart began to race, pump panic through every inch of her as her rationale broke free of its bonds, shot from the dark recesses of her mind to scream at the forefront of her consciousness. She had fucked up. She'd let it go too far. She hadn't been thinking clearly and now there was no going back. She had ruined things forever. This wasn't supposed to happen.

She lay there stiff as a corpse, hoping he would fall asleep, but no sooner did she sit up than he said her name.

"Sakura-chan…Is this really happening?"

Too many responses flew through her brain from every breed of intent, none of them adequate to undo what had happened or even nullify its gravity. She began to dress to buy time, hoping the best answer would come to her, but the voices drowned each other out, morphed into a dizzying white noise to the metronome of her pounding heart. As she stood, without looking at him, she opened her mouth and let out the first thing her tongue could form.

"Well, it did."

"…Oh," was all he said, in a tone she couldn't decipher alongside the chaos in her head. Without so much as a backward glance, much less another word, she left.

* * *

His voice bounced around her skull until it physically ached. Memory of his touch lingered on every inch of her skin where more often than not it manifested in heinous blue-purple marks as proof of their transgression.

_So _this_ is what 'letting go' looks like, huh?_ she thought derisively as again she traced a finger along bruised lips, a smirk appearing despite herself as she recalled that first clumsy kiss, the feel of his hair and lips and skin…

She caught herself on the edge of another reverie and stepped back from the precipice.

"…Shit."


End file.
